


Underneath Your Clothes

by CobaltStargazer



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Clothing Kink, F/M, Fantasizing, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 09:57:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1894752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CobaltStargazer/pseuds/CobaltStargazer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes when Spencer goes to work, Elle sifts through his closet. And sometimes his hamper.That's allowed, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Underneath Your Clothes

**Author's Note:**

> More adventures! Sorry if this one is kinda weird, the muse made me write it this way.

She doesn't hang around the apartment all the time he's gone. Considering the hours he keeps, that would be ridiculous. This was her stomping grounds once, and she gets out and does things while he's in the office or on a case. That's happened twice since she's been here. She knows she'll have to go back to her other life soon enough, but she's procrastinating.

She's putting some things away one afternoon, tidying up while he's out, when she catches sight of the suede jacket hanging in the back of the closet. It's light brown, with darker elbow patches. She's reasonably sure she's never seen him wear it. The weather was so warm when he came to see her that it wouldn't have been seasonal, and it hasn't really gotten cold enough here to put it on. It's soft to the touch when she brushes her fingers against the napped fabric. On impulse, she put her nose against the lapel and inhales. It smells like leather, with just the faintest whiff of his natural scent beneath that. It makes her smile, maybe arouses her a little, and she hangs the jacket back in its place.

Now that she knows what he looks like naked, has felt him on top of her and underneath her and inside her, she lets her mind wander to the way he looks when he's putting his clothes on in the morning. He still favors sweater vests and crisp shirts with either chinos or khakis. She likes to help him with his tie, even though he can do it by himself. On the weekends its jeans and polos and the occasional T shirt. He wears a suit _exceedingly_ well.

She likes to poke her head into his closet sometimes. It's neat and tidy, everything in its place. He doesn't own anything really expensive, but it's all quality stuff. She touches the fabrics and imagines the body they're covering up when he puts them on. If he has any idea that she's fetishizing his clothing, he gives no sign of it. She thinks he doesn't think enough of himself.

One afternoon she's emptying the hamper, and she's alone because he's not back yet. She's separating whites from colors when her favorite shirt catches her eye. She rubs the cloth between her fingers, then lifts it up to her face for a sniff. He doesn't sweat much unless they're in bed, but she catches that familiar smell that's part aftershave and part coffee and part just him. She takes the shirt in both hands, holds it closer to her face. Breathes in. She's thinking about him while she does it,. The way he moves his hands, how his back muscles work underneath his skin when he's between her legs, his athletic thighs flexing inside his pants.

That makes her forget about the laundry for the time being.

She trails into the bedroom, the shirt over her shoulder. Her jeans get shucked halfway down the hall. She leaves them behind in a puddle of denim. Her underwear comes off before she hits the bed and puts her knees in the air. She licks the fingers of one hand, uses the other to bring the shirt up to her face so she can bury her nose in it and take a _really_ deep sniff.

Her fingers work slowly, stoking the fire gradually. She's in no rush because she never knows when he's going to be back. Her thumb is on her clit, and two fingers are tunneling inside as her heels make indentations in the mattress. The shirt's on the floor. She's got that smell on the brain and her hand between her legs and she's so far into the zone that she doesn't even hear him unlock the door.

He finds her discarded jeans, prods them with the toe of one shoe. His satchel is still on his shoulder. He hears her before he sees her, and when he does see her he pauses at the bedroom door, then leans against the jamb with the threat of a smirk on his face.

"So this is what you get up to when I'm late."

Her eyes open, and it throws her rhythm off. He looks crisp and put-together, well-pressed. He's simultaneously smirking and smiling, and his eyes are warm. He remains where he is, his head tipping as he watches her fingers work. She wets her lower lip.

"Don't stop on my account," he says, and a jolt of fresh pleasure washes through her. She's never put on a show for him before, has never had to. Her ass muscles clench and release, and she opens her legs wider, exposing more of herself to the open air. And his eyes.

He sighs softly, and although he know how she looks and smells and tastes when she's enjoying herself, he's never seen it from this angle before. He spots his shirt lying next to the bed, begins to put the pieces together. That turns the smile mischievous. It's on the tip of his tongue to say something about how strong the sense of smell can be, but he doesn't want to distract her. She's got three fingers and a thumb in play now, and he's jealous of her hand because of where it is.

Having him watch makes it hotter, and she bucks into her own touch as her cunt muscles flutter a warning. She's panting and gasping and he's just _looking_ at her with those warm hazel eyes. He's a beautiful, beautiful man,

She comes, and its glorious, and he sighs with satisfaction as he watches her ride out the aftermath. Once she subsides a bit, he approaches the bed. Now that he can't distract her, he can get close.

"That was interesting."

"Yeah. Yeah, it was."

She offers him her fingers, and he cleans them with his tongue. The familiar taste makes him close his eyes so that he can savor it. He kisses the heel of her hand.

"Next time you want to go through my laundry, let me know," he says, and she laughs. She tugs on his hair, and the kiss she gives him is lazy. 

"That's a promise," she answers. "I think...I think I like it when you watch."


End file.
